Catalyst
by Lear's Daughter
Summary: An eventual MR AU of the movieverse. Some X3 spoilers. Will be four parts eventually.
1. Chapter 1

Author's Note: Thanks so much to Sionnain for her permission to use part of her idea in her story Reflective for how Xavier is crippled!  
Summary: An eventual Rogue/Magneto AU of the movieverse.  
Disclaimer: I own nothing to do with X-Men.

* * *

There were many times in his long stay at the mansion when Erik had felt that if Charles lectured him one more time on the goodness of mankind he would tear the building down around his old friend's head and damn the consequences. He had gotten very good at reminding himself that Charles was nearly as old as he was, and that, as the saying went, it was hard to teach old dogs new tricks. Then, when that stopped working, he told himself that open-mindedness was a virtue, and that Charles was free to believe whatever he wanted, however misguided he might be.

Of course, _that_ rationale had lost all effectiveness when it occurred to him that it was fine for Charles to believe whatever he wanted, but it was something else entirely for him to lecture for what seemed like hours on end about those beliefs to someone who wanted no part of them.

When those times struck—and they were happening more and more often, as Cerebro neared completion—rather than tear down the mansion and ruin many months of hard work, Erik went driving. Sometimes he drove just far enough to feel that he had exceeded the range of Charles' telepathy, and then he would rage and sometimes fling the car and then he would have to call Charles and make him come get him rather than try to explain to a cab driver just how his car had become wrapped around a tree, upside down. Sometimes he passed the southern border of New York state and just kept driving.

The worst of these times occurred after another argument about Charles' suppression of young Jean Grey's powers. Erik firmly believed that she should be taught to use her God-given abilities, but Charles was firm in his insistence that the best thing to do was to suppress them to the point that she didn't know they existed. Then Charles had gone off another of his spiels about how Erik was wrong to feel the way he did, and Erik hadn't been able to take it any more and had sped off in one of the brand new sports cars Charles had gotten to replace the last three he had destroyed.

That was nearly twelve hours ago. Erik—or Magneto, as he had taken to sometimes calling himself in his head—had driven nonstop, through cities and towns, through rolling farmland and bare forests, and he didn't even know what state he was in when the car's phone began to ring. He slammed on the brake, using his powers to keep the car from careening into anything as it went abruptly from eighty to zero miles per hour.

The phone's ring was shrill and grating to his ears as he stared at it as if it were a viper waiting to strike at him should he reach for it. He seriously considered ignoring the call. His hand inched forward, closed around the plastic handle. If Charles was calling to preach at him again, then he'd drive to Mexico and fight for mutant rights there, God help him if he didn't.

"What?" Only the slightest hint of his guttural German accent came through, despite his anger. Had anyone answered a call from him in that manner, he would have berated them severely; as it was, he was feeling petulant and not a little righteously childish. No, not childish—righteously _angry_.

"Erik." Charles' voice had no right to be so soothing, not when Erik was so angry with him. "Where are you?"

Erik hesitated as he thought. He thought about an hour ago he had seen a sign mentioning some middle-of-nowhere town, but he that was about all that he knew about his location. Somewhere in the South. Too embarrassed to admit that, he instead replied, "That's none of your business, Charles. The last time I checked, I was still an adult, and free to act as I see fit."

A hint of frustration crept into Charles' voice when he spoke next, and Erik felt his lips curl into an unkind smile at the sound. He took a certain sadistic pleasure in riling up the other man. "This has nothing to do with our previous conversation, Erik." Erik didn't think "conversation" was the right word for it. "I was only asking to be polite. I'm calling because you are in Tennessee right now, and I need you to continue to a small town in Alabama."

Erik's brow furrowed in confusion for a moment, then cleared. "You've used Cerebro," he said, losing his previous anger in a moment of sudden pleasure. "It works?"

"It is still very difficult to use, and imprecise," Charles said, "but, yes, it works. And as I was testing it, I stumbled upon the mind of a young mutant in Alabama who is in need of assistance."

Magneto's mind snapped into focus at those words. There was nothing that attracted his attention like a mutant in need. "Where?" he snapped out, his voice all business. He listened carefully as Charles told him the directions, calculating in his head. With his powers, he could drive at speeds that would be almost impossible for anyone else.

As if sensing his thoughts—something that the other mutant had assured him many times was impossible via phone line—Charles admonished him, "Don't use your powers, Erik. Driving at human speeds will get you there plenty fast enough."

If he were one of Charles' students, undoubtedly that tone would have worked on him. As it was…He hung up without saying goodbye and gunned the engine, using his powers to push the motor and wheels as the car tore from where it had been parked with a loud squeal.

He pulled into the town at a more sedate speed about an hour later, his sleek car contrasting sharply with the middle-class uniformity that surrounded him everywhere he looked. The house was easy to find, though it blended into its row of houses seamlessly. He left the car parked out front, then made his way to the front door. His bones creaked a little in protest at being forced to move after spending so long in a seated position, and he was reminded that he was not as young as he used to be. He was pushing fifty now, although he had high hopes of finding a mutant with the ability to retard the aging process.

He rang the doorbell, listening as the sound of a piano being played—poorly, he noted—stopped at the call. Light footsteps announced a woman's approach, and Magneto plastered a smile on his face when she opened the door. She was the kind of woman who would never be labeled "attractive" by anyone but her mother, but who also didn't deserve to be called homely. Plain, he supposed, was one way of putting it. Her eyes were cautious but her smile was welcoming as she took in the well-dressed stranger.

"Yes?" she asked. Her voice held a southern twang that was mildly grating.

His instinctive response to the mere sight and sound of her was to slam her against a wall and gut her with the gilt mirror that was sure to be standing on display somewhere in the house, but he forced down the urge. What would Charles do?

"Good evening, ma'am," he said, not quite able to keep a hint of vitriol from his voice. Her eyes narrowed at his tone, and he reined himself in again. "I work for the Mutant Reform Agency; may I come in?" If she said yes, he would kill her. Not right now, perhaps, but someday, when he wouldn't be drawing unwelcome attention…

Her expression lit instantly and her suspicion melted away like summer dew. "Oh! Of course! Please, do come in." She pulled the door wider and he bowed his head as he passed into the house, hiding the flash of absolute fury in his slate grey eyes. "I'm so glad you've come," she blathered, following him into a tastefully decorated living room. Something was off about it, however; there were numerous shadows on the wall where it was clear that pictures had recently been removed. The only ones that remained were of the woman and a man he could only assume was her husband. "We were getting desperate."

He forced his tone to stay bland, bored. "Oh?"

"Well, yes," she said, wringing her hands as if greatly upset. "It's been two days since…the incident…and we were starting to worry that no one official would be coming to help us with…our problem."

He wondered whether the pauses as she spoke were because she felt guilty for saying the things she did, or because she just wasn't used to admitting her shame out loud. "I see. Well, I'm here now. May I see her?"

"Of course, of course," she said hurriedly, ushering him up a flight of stairs. "Normally my husband would be here at this time of day, but ever since…the incident…he's spent less and less time at home."

"I don't really—" care, was the word that was on the tip of Magneto's tongue, but then he saw the expectant expression on her face and reminded himself that this was all for the greater good. "—know what to tell you, ma'am. These kinds of incidents tend to cause problems everywhere."

She sighed heavily, as if the weight of the world was on her shoulders, then pointed to a door at the end of the second-floor hallway. It was a plain, simple, every day door—except for the fact that it was locked from the outside. "I'm sorry, but I can't even stand looking at her. I'll be downstairs after you've talked with her."

He nodded curtly at that, then waited till she had walked back downstairs to stride to the door and open the lock with a contemptuous wave of his hand. For a parent to keep a child locked in a cell like this—for a human to imprison a mutant—the very idea made him sick. Mindful of the undoubtedly distressed state of the child inside, he opened the door more gently, and walked inside slowly.

The room was very bare, with a bed and open, empty closet. The windows were boarded up from the outside, and the walls were startlingly devoid of decoration. At first he thought that the room was truly empty, but then he spotted the small frame huddling in one of the far corners of the room. He couldn't see much, due to dim lighting and the distance, except for long brown hair spilling down over her arms and knees. She was leaning against the wall, her legs pulled tightly to her body and her arms wrapped around them, her face buried in her knees.

Erik paused. Despite his conviction of moments before he found himself faced with certain difficulties now that the reality of the situation was pressing itself upon him. He was a charismatic man, he knew, and well able to inspire other mutants to believe the same things he did. He was far less experienced at dealing with children, and usually found the young mutants at Charles' mansion to be both annoying and poorly trained.

"My dear," he said quietly, his voice loud in the enclosed room. He didn't know her name.

Her head jerked up with a startled gasp at the sound of his voice, and this time he couldn't help how utterly menacing his expression became when he caught sight of her bruised and battered face. The girl had clearly been beaten, thoroughly—by the father, no doubt—and hadn't even begun to recover. Her face was so swollen that most of her features were distorted; the way her face twisted in fear at the sight of his expression didn't help, and he carefully schooled his face back into the dispassionate mask he had taught himself so many years ago, in the camps, when he had been the same age this girl was now.

Her eyes were brown, the same color as her mother's, and yet they were infinitely more attractive, perhaps because they were full of pain and fear and defiance—an enticing combination, and one that spoke a great deal about her spirit.

"Who're you?" she demanded. Something about the timber of her voice made her accent, too, nicer than her mother's; even in the few words she spoke, her voice lilted. It would undoubtedly be one of her nicer features when—if—she grew up. As she spoke, she pulled herself even further into her corner, as if expecting a blow from him.

He moved towards her slowly, cautiously, as one might move towards a wounded animal. "My name is Erik Lensherr," he said gently. "I am a mutant, like yourself. I'm here to rescue you."

The words seemed ludicrous to him, but her eyes became impossibly wide in response. He watched the emotions flit across them—hope, disbelief, joy, fear, and, ultimately, caution—and he watched as a shutter came down across her eyes and face, a defense mechanism that she was very close to perfecting despite her youth.

"I don't believe you," she said in reply. He noticed that her hands, which were clenched on her knees, were gloved. "You're one of those shrinks they've got trying to 'cure' people of mutancy. Well, I ain't buying it. You can go and tell my mother she's gotta try something better than false empathy if she's gonna try to make me normal again."

He raised an eyebrow, impressed by her spunk. "My dear girl, I assure you that I am not lying," he said. He gestured carelessly at her bed, using the metal frame to levitate it several feet above the floor. He shot a glance at the young girl, who was staring at the bed with her mouth forming a small "o", then set it back down. Her eyes lit up again for a brief second before again losing hope.

"But…I can't do that," she protested, unconsciously pushing a strand of hair behind her ear. She looked very forlorn. "I can't do anything like that."

He smiled a little, hoping that his expression was reassuring. "At this stage, you can't possibly know what you can and cannot do," he told her. "And even if you can't do what I just did, you are a mutant, which means that you have the ability to do things that humans can only dream of. You are a very special person, my girl."

"Marie," she said quietly. Her hands loosened a little from their death grip on her knees. "My name is Marie."

His smile grew. "Marie, I'm here to take you away from this place. Would you like that?"

She didn't hesitate. "Yes, please." Even in her state, her manners were impeccable.

He walked close enough to her to offer her a hand up, noting the way she flinched back from his approach. Oh, yes, the mother was definitely going to die soon—as was the father.

"You—you have to be careful around me," Marie croaked, staring at his extended hand in fear. "Touching my skin—it hurts people."

He nodded, unfazed by her warning. "I will be careful."

She hesitated a moment longer, then reached out her gloved hand. It was very small compared to his much larger one. She was very light as he pulled her to her feet. "Is there anything you would like to take with you?" he asked.

She shook her head quickly, as if the idea of asking for something from the house was repulsive to her. He had no doubt that it was. "Let us go, then."

"What—what are you going to say to my mother?" Marie asked as they walked slowly from the room, her legs unsteady beneath her. He was poised the whole time, ready to catch her should she fall, but her back was rigid and her step firm, and he suspected that it was determination alone that kept her upright. Her head only came mid-way up his chest.

"I have very little to say to that woman," he said.

Marie's mother was waiting downstairs as she had told him she would, but instead of speaking to her he flung a metal cooking pot at her, forcing her to duck out of the way. He had had no true intention of harming her at the moment; he would save his vengeance for when her young daughter was not present. By the time she had recovered they were out the door and making their way to his car. Ever the gentleman, he opened the door for the girl, waiting until she had climbed inside to close it behind her, then went to his own side and got in. He placed the key in the ignition and turned it, listening as the engine roared to life.

"Where are we going?" the girl asked, and when he glanced at her out of the corner of his eye her hands were clenched tightly in her lap, and her eyes were staring straight ahead of her. Her unmarred skin was quite pale against the mottled color of her numerous bruises.

"I have a friend in New York who has a school for mutants like you," he said as he smoothly accelerated out of the drab neighborhood. "You'll like it there; it has a basketball court, and you can dorm with another mutant."

"But what if I hurt someone?" she whispered. "Like I hurt Mark."

"Mark?" he asked carefully. He drove the car at a normal speed, not wanting to frighten her further.

"A boy at school. He wanted to hold my hand, and when I let him…something happened, and now he's in a coma, and everyone hates me."

He heard a sniffle, and knew, just knew, that she was crying.

"Only ignorant humans would hate you for your power," he said, voice firm. "Your powers make you special, Marie, not a monster. Anyone who says otherwise is a fool. And we will make sure that you do not injure anyone you don't want to injure. Charles—Professor Xavier—is very good at teaching people to use their powers constructively." Even as he spoke, however, he doubted his own words. After all, Charles wasn't making much of an attempt to help young Jean learn to control her powers, was he?

"Okay." She didn't sound entirely convinced, but he would have doubted her intelligence if she had.

He looked at her again, examining her critically. "You look very tired," he observed.

"I haven't slept much the past few days," she said, meeting his eyes for a moment before looking out the window. "Too scared."

His face softened, and almost against his own will he reached out to gently pat her on the shoulder. "Well, you're safe now," he said. "I won't let anyone hurt you. Why don't you go to sleep, and I'll wake you when we reach New York."

Her eyes were full of innocent trust when she looked at him. He wondered whether anyone had ever looked at him in quite that way before, and felt a strange surge of protectiveness swell in his breast. "Okay," she said again, and closed her eyes. Her breathing evened out quickly, and within minutes she was asleep.

She didn't wake up until he touched her shoulder again many hours later, as he pulled the car into Xavier's garage.

* * *

Erik was relaxed as he wrote out the last few letters of an equation, examining it critically and then holding it up for the other mutant to examine.

"What do you think?" he asked.

Marie cocked her head to one side as she peered closely at the neatly written numbers and symbols.

"What does the 'a' stand for?" she asked curiously.

"That is the symbol which represents the unique life force exerted by mutants," he explained, swiveling in his chair to look at the young girl perched on a stool next to him. It had been a week since he had rescued her from her home, and since then she had followed him everywhere he went, a not entirely unwelcome addition to his daily routine. She had yet to really come out of her shell, even to Charles, but Erik had found that if he included her in his activities she seemed happier.

Everywhere she went she was careful to clothe herself head-to-toe, fearful of having even the tiniest bit of flesh exposed. Erik had had to convince her that it was unnecessary to wear a ski mask at all times. Her bruises had begun to fade and some of the swelling to come down, and he could already tell that she was going to be a very attractive young lady. Not that that would matter much, if they couldn't teach her to use her powers and regain her confidence.

Her powers…as yet, they still knew nothing more about her powers than they had when she had arrived. She reacted violently when they suggested performing tests on her, and steadfastly refused to try touching someone to see what would happen. Charles had theorized that her power was some sort of ability to pull someone's energy from them, but until they could experiment further there was little they could do to help.

"Life force?" Her impatient eyes reminded him that she was waiting for more of an explanation.

"Mmm," he hummed affirmatively. He always had appreciated a good audience, and in the past week he had found that she had a keen mind and an insatiable curiosity. He wondered whether she had had her interest in mathematics before she met him, or whether she was changing her preferences to suit him. "You see, Marie, I wasn't lying when I told you that mutants are special, better than humans. That was not just an ideological statement, but a statement with a scientific basis. All creatures give off an energy signature, usually in the form of heat. Humans give off the same signature, but mutants exert another one entirely."

"So this equation, it's supposed to help you refine Cerebro to measure mutant signatures better?"

Erik's lips curled in a smile. "Very good," he praised, pleased by the way she blushed and looked down. He glanced at the clock on the wall, surprised that it was already so late. "I think that's enough work for tonight, don't you?" he asked. She nodded shyly. "Would you like to watch a movie, perhaps?"

"Yes," she said quietly. "I'd like that."

Her favorite movie, she'd informed him, was _The Silence of the Lambs_. Apparently, she'd watched it with a few friends about a year ago; her parents hadn't known. He'd pointed out that it was a horror movie, and a disturbing one, at that, but her reply had been enlightening. "It's only disturbing to those who empathize more with the people he kills than Clarice, silly," she'd said in a rare moment of levity. "Dr. Lecter, he only gets people who deserve it. He knows Clarice is a good person, so he helps her."

It was perhaps an immature take on the movie, but a surprisingly adult one from such a young girl. He didn't need to ask what movie she wanted to watch tonight, popping in the DVD and settling down on the couch with her. _The Silence of the Lambs_ had not been one of the movies the mansion had owned, but Erik had gone out and bought it for this purpose. Marie settled herself on the couch next to him, shot a sidelong glance at him, then scooted a little closer. Without looking at her, pretending as if he didn't even know what he was doing, Erik pulled her to rest her head on his chest, gently caressing her as her head rose and fell with the rhythm of his breathing.

It was during the climax of the movie—Clarice wandering through the pitch-black basement—when Erik heard the sound of quiet footsteps and looked up to meet Charles' eyes. The other mutant looked momentarily pleased at the sight of Erik and his young charge together, but there was a tenseness in his gaze that instantly alerted him that there was something wrong. Marie was asleep, he could tell, so he gently lifted her head and placed a pillow under it, then slid out from beneath her.

He padded from the room on near-silent feet, following his old friend out. "What is it?" he asked, noting the lines on the younger man's face.

"We need to talk, Erik," Charles said, his voice soft but carrying with it a hint of doom. With a sudden flash of perception Erik knew that his time at the mansion was up. He easily recognized that they were heading towards Cerebro. Charles allowed the machine to scan his retinas, and the two entered the large spherical room. Neither noticed that the door failed to close behind them, young Scott and Jean keeping it propped open as they peered inside. "We agreed, Erik," he said, staring at the walls of Cerebro, "we agreed that Cerebro would be a tool for good. To be used to find mutants, to help them."

"We did," Magneto said. Now that his expulsion from the mansion was assured, he found a sort of grim humor in his old friend's agitation.

"And now I find that you've been planning uses for it that we never agreed to! Ways of changing it to locate humans—to control them."

Erik smirked, which only increased Charles' anger. "I haven't broken our agreement, if that's what you're trying to say, Charles," he said smoothly. "We just differ in our perspectives on what it means to help humans. Cerebro can still be used for the purpose we decided on together, but change the orientation of the tiles—" he gestured, and several of the large metal panels detached themselves from the wall and slid smoothly into new positions "—and it can be used for another purpose entirely."

"Put them back, Erik," Charles said. "Now."

"I am not one of your students to be ordered around, Charles," Magneto snarled in response. He had never been one to accept another's authority. Then his expression metamorphosed into something far more sinister as his lips curled in a smile. "Or are you willing to force me?"

Charles' teeth were gritted, the clenching of his facial muscles all the more visible because of his bald head. "I am _asking_ you," he ground out. "But you know well that either way you need to leave. Today. I've put up with a great deal from you, Erik, because you are my friend, but this—this cannot be borne."

"Of course." Hearing the words was still painful, even if he was prepared for them. "Far be it from me to defy your all-knowing sense of morality." He was prepared to go, to depart and leave the tiles as they were just to force Charles to go through the laborious process of trying to move them without a Master of Magnetism, when an anguished young voice cried out behind him.

"Don't go!" He whirled to see Marie looking at him, tears forming in her large eyes. She had walked out onto the catwalk with them and now stared at Erik as if his departure would be the ultimate betrayal. "You can't go," she whispered, her voice heartbreakingly broken.

His face softened. "I'm sorry, Marie," he said gently. "I can't stay here."

"Then let me come with you," she insisted, wiping the tears from her face angrily. "You said you'd protect me."

Erik hesitated for a long moment. The thought was tempting. She cared about him, it was clear, and he—well, he wasn't entirely indifferent to her. Then reality intruded. "I'm sorry," he said again. "Charles will protect you; I cannot."

He walked past her, close enough that she could have lashed out and struck him if she chose, but she was stiff, unmoving, despite his proximity. Magneto glared at the other two young mutants still watching from the open doorway, and they backed away from him, their expressions defiant. He gestured, and the metal panels he had moved earlier were torn from their positions and flown across the room to be returned to their starting positions.

In the years to come, he would torment himself endlessly with the question of whether Marie and Charles had moved, or whether he had made a mistake when moving the tiles, because his exit was halted by the terrifying sound of a young girl's scream and, barely a second later, a sickening _crunch_.

He whirled around, refusing to believe what he already knew, and he stared at the empty catwalk in horror. He used his powers to levitate himself down to the floor of the sphere, trembling with fear and rising anxiety as he saw the two bodies lying there. Charles was closer, groaning faintly, so at least he was still alive, but the girl, who had fallen further away, was lying twisted and unmoving. He rushed over to her, falling to his knees at her side as his eyes desperately sought her pulse. She was barely breathing, and it was clear that there were things that were broken inside of her.

Erik slammed his fist on the ground, furious with himself and the world. "Call the hospital!" he shouted at the two teenagers watching from above. They hurried to do as he ordered. He looked back down at Marie, and knew that if he didn't do something right now she would die. His mind flitted to the conversations he had had with Charles about her powers, about her ability to suck out peoples' energy, and almost without realizing what he was doing he drew off his thick leather gloves, dropping them on the floor. Then he carefully placed his hands on either side of her face, holding it gently.

The pull started almost instantly, painful and causing his breath to stop in his throat. He held on for as long as he could, then tore his hands and eyes away, refusing in a moment of rare cowardice to look at her and see whether he had succeeded. Her fate was out of his hands now. Driven by his own guilt and grief, he levitated himself back onto the catwalk and ran through the halls of the mansion, desperate to escape. He leapt into the car and gunned the engine, then drove away, no destination in mind, only knowing that he needed to get as far from the mansion as possible.

Ignoring his great desire to turn the car around, to go back and help his old friend and the girl who depended on him, he never looked back.


	2. Chapter 2

_Twelve Years Later_

When Logan looked at her, he had to fight to keep his brow from furrowing in concern. She was still so young, his Marie, too young to look as she did now: tired, unhappy, depressed. Usually she was so happy to see him that she managed to shed her grim visage for a happier one, but today even the sight of his gruff expression and weathered leather jacket hadn't been enough to bring a smile to her face. She had simply stared at him for a long moment, the door open just wide enough for her to see his face, then wordlessly opened it further to allow him to slip inside.

"No hug?" His joking tone had earned an empty glance from her, and that was when he really began to worry. "Marie…"

She was beautiful, his Marie, beautiful but broken. Her fine features, her honey-brown eyes would have been attractive on their own, but surrounded as they were by the white shock of hair that framed her heart-shaped face they seemed almost other-worldly. She wore simple but elegant clothing, usually dark and flattering colors.

"Why are you here, Logan?" she asked flatly, crossing her arms over her chest defensively as she watched him warily from her position across the room.

He tried to suppress the hurt that filled him at her words. "C'mon, kid," he said, "you knew I'd be coming back. You're usually happy to see me."

"'Usually' is a strong word to use when you've come to see me all of three times in the past four years," she said sharply. "It's been two years since I last saw you, Logan. You're a fool if you think nothing's changed in that time."

"What's happened?" he asked. He went to her kitchen and grabbed a beer, guzzling it quickly and then grabbing another. He wondered how much money she spent each year buying enough beer to keep her refrigerator fully stocked for him, since he was well aware that she didn't drink the stuff herself. The beer told him that no matter how angry she was with him she wasn't angry enough that he was unwelcome.

"Asia is dead," she said, pushing a strand of white hair out of her face in one of her signature nervous gestures. Even in her grief, her hard eyes made it clear that she wasn't looking for his sympathy. If he had wanted to offer that, he was several years too late. "Sky's been captured by Stryker. I've been working on getting the others out of the country, but it's only a matter of time until they find us."

"Why didn't you tell me?" _I would have come, would have tried to help_. At least, he thought he would have. He was no one's idea of a hero, but usually he could be counted on in a pinch.

"Your cell phone was disconnected," she said tersely. "Your drop box went unchecked."

Logan knew that if she had really wanted to find him, really been desperate for his help, there were ways she could have located him. She had informants everywhere and other means of locating people that he knew nothing about. The point wasn't that she couldn't find him. The point was that he had made it seem as if he didn't want to be found.

"I'm sorry, kid," he said.

"I'm not a kid, Logan. It's been a long time since I snuck onto your truck for a ride. I've grown up; you haven't."

"What are you doing to make sure you're safe?" he asked, refocusing on the important issues and avoiding meeting her eyes. "When are you leaving?"

"Not till everyone else is out," she said, looking away. Her profile was elegant, refined. The lines at the corners of her eyes hadn't been there the last time he'd seen her.

"Marie..." His tone was reproving.

"This whole mess can still be a success, Logan," she replied to his unspoken objection. "We've gotten a lot of people out, and the community has been set up. If we can get the rest of the organization out unscathed—or nearly so—then we'll have done all that we set out to achieve."

"And in the meantime, Stryker will have you to experiment on," Logan growled out in frustration. He clenched his fists, welcoming the cleansing pain as the blades sliced out through his skin. She didn't flinch at the sound or the sudden sight of the sharp, gleaming metal.

"Stryker doesn't frighten me," she said, and her naiveté reminded him that she was only twenty years old.

"Don't be stupid," he said fiercely. He restrained himself from slashing out with his claws. She allowed him to extend them in her home, but she might react differently if he shredded her only couch. "What, do you think that because you've suffered before nothing can hurt you now? If Stryker gets his hands on you, Marie, he'll suck you dry. You know it. He'd cut off your skin and force you to absorb more people and in the end you'd be a mindless shell or a shell with so many minds that it bursts."

"What do ya want me to do?" she demanded, her Southern twang coming out as her face flushed in anger. "Do you want me to turn my back on the people who trust me? Want me to abandon everything I've fought for all these years?"

"I want you to go somewhere where you'll be safe," he snarled.

"Like where?"

Uh-oh. She had that infuriating, stubborn expression on her face that told him that she was going to need a lot more convincing than he hoped.

"What about Xavier's?" he asked. "From everything you've told me, I'm sure he'd take you in again. You could hide out there until it's time to go."

"I haven't seen Xavier in twelve years, Logan," she said incredulously. "What, you want me to show up on his doorstep and say, 'here I am, the girl who's responsible for you bein' paralyzed'?"

"Kid, I really doubt he blames you for what happened." They'd had this argument too many times already. One of the results of Marie having so many voices running around in her head was that she had an unbelievably strong guilt complex. Or maybe that was just a natural part of Marie. Seeing her expression, he held up his hands in surrender. "Okay, okay. What about…you know who?" He couldn't quite bring himself to say the man's name, but they both knew who he was talking about.

Marie shot him a strange look. "You really have been out of the loop, haven't you, sugar? He's been in jail for nearly a year. They caught him trying to change all the world's leaders into mutants." Her voice was flat.

"Are you okay about that?" he asked carefully. That man had always been a sore point between them, mostly because Logan would have really liked to find the man and rend him limb from limb but knew that the evil mutant's powers would have defeated him in moments.

"It was a stupid way to get caught," she said, sidestepping his question. "He should have known that his calculations were off. And he should never have based all of his expectations on one failed experiment."

"Marie, I'm beggin' ya darlin', go to Xavier's. You know he won't blame you for what happened. I'll stay with ya, until it's time to go. I promise."

"I've been let down by you so many times, Logan," she said tiredly. He held his breath. She sighed heavily. "What's once more? If they say a single word about not wanting me there, we're going to leave immediately."

"Deal," he said instantly. "How long do you need to pack?"

A wry twist to her lips that might have been a smile, she gestured to a backpack that laid against one wall. "I felt you coming a mile away, Logan," she said simply. His jaw dropped open. "I knew you'd convince me to go with you."

"Then, why make me…"

His confusion was worth it, since it brought an almost-amused expression to her face. "It's always nice to see you beg, darlin'," she drawled out in a very good impression of Logan himself. She turned away from him to grab her bag, putting a little swing into her hips just to distract him.

He felt a grin form on his own face as he followed her to the door, leaving the decrepit apartment behind. It had taken longer than usual, but he had gotten her to smile.

The drive to Xavier's mansion was quick and comfortable. Logan had never been there before, but he'd memorized its location in case he ever actually managed to convince Rogue to return. She clung to him on the motorcycle, her wiry strength easily keeping her balanced. He wondered what it would be like to spar with her now, after so long apart, and found that he was looking forward to it.

He wondered why he had been gone so long this time and realized that he didn't really know. Surely he could have dropped by, stayed for a few days here and there, even left a phone message just to let her know that he was still alive. He hoped that the real reason for his long absence wasn't as shallow as he thought it was—that it was so nice to be missed that he stayed away longer and longer just to see the severity of her reaction when she saw him again. It wasn't possible that he could be so perversely cruel to the one person he cared about in the world, was it?

His suggestion that they go to Xavier's was his way of atoning, and of making sure that he could keep an eye on her while she was around. Somehow this slip of a girl had wormed her way into his heart, taking up position as sister and daughter, friend and sometimes even mother. Theirs was a bizarre relationship, and never failed to confuse him.

The drive from her apartment in Chicago to New York was a long one, but other than a restroom break they didn't stop for the entire trip. Now and then Logan felt Marie brush her hand across his face or neck for a moment, absorbing enough of his powers to stay alert and strong.

They had met five years ago, when Marie had been a haunted, desperate waif of a thing and he had been a rugged, no good cage fighter. Neither of them had changed much since then. Marie had a bit more meat on her bones now, perhaps, and a confidence in the way she tilted her head that she had lacked, and Logan had a bit more compassion in him. She had been playing the piano for tips in a run-down bar on the outskirts of New York proper, a place she shouldn't even have been legally allowed into, and he had shown up as a cage fighter. For some reason or another she had decided that he was the one on whose truck she would stow away, and it hadn't been until he had driven nearly thirty miles that he realized that he had gained a passenger.

He would always be grateful to whatever higher powers actually existed that he hadn't just kicked her out of the truck and driven away. Instead, in a moment of rare generosity he had allowed her to remain, and when he had seen her meager pile of money he had even volunteered to pay for her half of the hotel room they reluctantly agree to share. It had two beds, at least, which had been a requirement from both of them.

He still got a certain amount of amusement out of remembering his surprise when, in the midst of one of his usual nightmares, he had felt a hand on his shoulder, and, panicking, had unleashed his claws and skewered Marie as if she were a shish kabob. His shock had been palpable when, instead of quietly dying, she had reached out an unsteady hand and placed it against the side of his face, and, before his very eyes, had begun to heal.

That had been the beginning of a friendship that, if not beautiful, was at least strong and mutual and much needed by them both.

It was dark by the time they reached the mansion, and they parked the motorcycle some distance away when it was clear to them that they were not the only ones coming to visit the mansion at this late hour.

"Shit," Logan muttered under his breath. All those years of trying to get her to go back to Xavier's, and when he finally succeeded, he just had to be bringing her to danger rather than rescuing her from it. "We need to get outta here, darlin'."

From the look she shot him, he knew, just knew, what she was going to say. "Don't be an idiot, Logan," she said. "We can't just leave! It's a school under attack!"

"Not our problem," he insisted. "I was bringing you here to protect you, not to get you into even more trouble."

Her eyes narrowed. "What, you brought me here hoping they'd help me but not expecting me to help them in return? You know me better than that."

He grimaced. "Yeah. I do." The sound of his claws springing out seemed to slice through the night air, and with a growl he took off running for the gated entrance, knowing that Rogue was right behind him. It was always a comfort to him knowing that even if he let her down time and again his voice was always in her head, guiding her and making sure that she didn't do anything too dangerous. He could trust that she knew how to handle herself in a fight, for example.

They ascended the fence and dropped down silently, Marie landing with a graceful flip that told him that she'd found some new people to teach her stealth since he'd last seen her. They snuck their way past some of the intruders, Logan tearing them down with slashes of his deadly claws, and then they were inside the school.

"Where's Xavier?" Logan demanded.

Marie frowned, shaking her head. "Trust me, Logan, if he were here right now, we'd know about it." She hesitated, then nodded once to herself, as if coming to a decision about something. "You take this floor," she ordered. "There's an evacuation tunnel down the left hallway, behind a picture of George Washington. Hopefully the students are already escaping that way. I'll check the upstairs to make sure no one's been left behind."

"Too risky," he said. "You take this floor, I'll check upstairs."

"This place is like a maze, Logan," she snapped, frustrated. "You'd never find your way around. It has to be this way."

He hesitated.

"_Go_," she said, and he went. He trusted her judgment, after all, even if it did tend to place her into far more peril than he liked.

As she'd predicted, there was a steady file of children making their way into the tunnel, and Logan rushed forward, ears pricked for any out-of-place sound. One of the older boys, a handsome young man, glared suspiciously at him. "Who are you?" he asked, trying to be menacing as he held up his hand threateningly. A ball of ice spun slowly in front of his palm, clearly ready to be thrown.

"The name's Wolverine," Logan said. "I'm here to help."

The boy hesitated, clearly wanting to trust him. At last, he must have decided that he had no choice, because he said, "I'm Bobby. You can call me Iceman."

Logan managed not to snicker at the name. Barely. "Well, Iceman, I need you to keep evacuating the kids. I'm going to make sure no one comes near us."

As he spoke, he tilted his head back, sniffing a little as a sharp odor intruded on his senses. He grinned, looking more than a little feral. "Game time."

It took only a matter of seconds to dispatch with the two soldiers—he would have felt a great deal more guilt if they hadn't been bearing arms against a bunch of kids—but it was enough to get his adrenaline pumping. He turned back to Bobby with a grin.

"Woah." The kid looked impressed. Or was that disturbed? Then he shouted, "Look out!" and flung his hand forward, sending ice streaming towards a much larger group of soldiers. He frowned in concentration as he slowly built up a wall of ice, impeding the soldiers' progress.

"Nice," Marie's voice came from behind them, and Logan turned to see her standing behind him, not even breathing hard as she ushered several delinquent children through the door into the tunnel.

"How'd you get here so fast?" Logan demanded, although he suspected he knew.

She shrugged. "There's like two corridors on each floor. It was a pretty easy search."

"You lied to me?" he asked, shocked.

She smirked a little, then looked past him, her eyes widening, and Logan spun around just in time to see one of the soldiers point a tranquilizer gun at Bobby and pull the trigger. He gave a startled cry and fell back, a dart protruding from his shoulder and his eyes already beginning to glaze over. Logan watched in dread as the ice wall began thinning almost immediately. Then Marie lunged forward, grabbing Bobby's wrist tightly in her bare hand and flinging her free hand toward the ice wall, using Bobby's power to build it back up. Its progress was only slightly slower than when Bobby himself had been constructing it, and within moments the corridor was sealed tightly. Marie let go of the other mutant as soon as the wall was completed. Logan could barely make out Stryker's face from the other side of the partition, but he could tell from the man's furious expression that he knew just who had foiled his plans.

"Woah," Bobby said once more, eyes wide with surprise, and then he passed out.

Logan and Marie exchanged a quick glance, then he swung the unconscious mutant over his shoulder and gestured to the tunnel. "You first, darlin'."

She rolled her eyes, then hurried in, waiting until Logan closed the door behind them. Another boy, about Bobby's age, was waiting for them in the tunnel, and he lit a lighter and formed a small ball of fire in his hand to light the way. His handsome face looked vaguely malevolent in the unsteady light of the fire. Before they left, Marie turned back to the entrance of the tunnel with a wicked grin and used the last of the power she had taken from Bobby to coat the front of it with a thick layer of ice. A great deal of it might have melted by the time the soldiers got through, but there should be enough left to cause a bit of mayhem.

"Where does this tunnel lead?" she asked the boy, who frowned at being spoken to in such a manner but relented when he saw Logan's menacing expression from behind her.

"Out into the woods. Theoretically, there's supposed to be someone there to meet us, but considering that all the professors seem to have disappeared, I wouldn't be too sure."

Marie frowned. "Let's go."

It was a long walk through the tunnel, not least because everyone was on edge. At last they emerged into the woods, into the midst of a small group of young, frightened mutants. Before she had even finished clearing the exit Marie pulled her cell phone out of some hidden pocket, rapidly dialing in a series of numbers. At Logan's expression she explained, "I have a contact living close to here. She should be able to take most of these children over the border." She spoke quickly to the person who answered on the other end, then hung up. "Fifteen minutes," she told Logan crisply.

They shepherded the younger mutants into a protective circle, with Pyro, Marie, and Logan standing prepared for anything while they waited.

"Who _are_ you?" Pyro demanded, nervously flicking his lighter on and off.

"I'm Rogue, and this is Wolverine," Marie replied. Her eyes narrowed as he continued his nervous action. "Quit that, will you?" she hissed. "You're going to attract attention with that light."

He sneered at her but ceased.

"Where is the Professor?" Marie asked. "Why did he leave you kids alone?"

"We're not kids," Pyro said, offended. "The Professor went with Cyclops to see Magneto earlier today, and we haven't heard from him. Dr. Grey and Storm went looking for a mutant in the X-Jet. They trusted us to take care of ourselves for a few hours. How do you know the Professor, anyways?"

"I lived here for a little while, a long time ago," she said vaguely. "He wouldn't have left you without some means of contacting help. Did he give ya a special cell phone or something?"

"Maybe," Pyro said obstinately.

"John." Bobby's voice came from behind them. He sounded groggy but otherwise all right, and staggered forward to join them in the clearing. He shot Marie an odd look, making Logan wonder just how much he remembered from before he passed out. "Give them the phone, will you?"

Grumbling, Pyro handed it over, and Marie quickly located the large red "Panic" button. It looked like Pyro must have pressed it earlier, and it was a relief knowing that help from the X-Men should be coming soon. As if to spite them, he pulled his lighter back out and started flipping it again.

With a decidedly Logan-like growl, Marie stretched her hand forward, and the lighter sprung from Pyro's grip to her own. She raised an eyebrow when he turned a furious expression on her, and Logan thought he saw a hint of new respect in the kid's eyes. If only Pyro knew.

At last the sound of a running motor reached their ears, and an RV pulled to a lumbering stop in front of their hiding spot. The door opened and a young woman stepped out, her eyes glowing green in the darkness. "Rogue?" she called out.

Marie and Logan stepped from their hiding place and the two women quickly embraced. They ushered the mutants into the large vehicle and began driving away. "Where to?" the woman asked.

Marie didn't hesitate. "I need you to take the kids over the border, but Logan and I need to find the Professor and the X-Men. There's somethin' very wrong here."

"We're staying with you," Bobby asserted.

"Yeah." Pyro's expression was defiant.

Marie and Logan exchanged another glance. She sighed, looking away, and Logan turned toward them, his expression a fearsome thing. "If we let you come, you're going to follow our orders to the letter, do you understand me? I won't let you get either of us killed by being stupid."

They nodded quickly, as if afraid the invitation would be revoked. "We can go to my house to wait for Dr. Grey and Storm," Bobby volunteered. "It's nearby."

A little under an hour later they were dropped off at the suburban house, and Marie gave the woman another hug goodbye and a quiet admonishment to be careful before the RV drove away, the small group of mutants in tow.

"They'll be okay," Marie reassured Pyro, who scowled at having been caught looking mildly worried. She handed him his lighter, and he snatched it from her hand.

Bobby's family turned out to be less welcoming than they'd hoped, not taking the news of his mutancy very well. Logan could tell that Marie, like him, was just waiting for the other shoe to drop. When the police cars showed up outside, he knew that it had.

"Right now would be a really good time for that jet to come," he muttered. His claws had come out almost without him meaning for them to, and when he stepped on the porch he saw every weapon swing toward him.

"Put the knives down," someone barked through a loudspeaker.

He grimaced, feeling Marie come up beside him and knowing that the other two kids had probably joined them. "I can't," he told the police slowly, retracting the claws as he did so. Of course, they couldn't just accept that, and the next thing he knew he was flat on his back, shaking his head as his mutation pushed a bullet out of his skull. "Ugh," he grunted.

Noises that sounded suspiciously like disaster attracted his attention, and he groaned when he sat up and saw that Pyro had flung a fireball at one police car and was preparing to do the same to another. Fortunately for them all, Marie was very good at keeping her head in a crisis—after all, wasn't that one of the reasons he liked her so much?—and she latched onto Pyro's ankle, pulling his power from him and using it to calm the raging fires.

Then, to add mayhem to mass confusion, the X-Jet arrived, settling down among the terrified humans and opening up to allow the mutants on board. Logan slung Pyro over his shoulder, and Marie urged Bobby to hurry. As they rushed to the rescue vehicle, Logan shouted, "I'm beginning to understand why you thought they might not want you around, darlin'!" At her glare, he quickly said, "Just kiddin'."

They quickly climbed aboard, and as the door swung shut they were airborne. Logan was the last to climb aboard, right after Marie, so he had the best view of her interaction with one of the mutants who had been flying the plane.

"Jean?" Marie asked, a smile forming on her face that was more open than Logan was accustomed to seeing.

Jean blinked in confusion. Then her eyes opened wide in shock. "_Marie_?" she asked.

"Hey, sugar," Marie said. "Thanks for the ride."

"But—but—" The beautiful woman's stutter was cut off by a sudden shout from the front.

"Jean, get up here!" an accented voice spoke. "We have trouble!"

Marie and Logan hurried up after her, passing Bobby and Pyro, who were both strapped into their seats, and a small blue man with strange carvings all over his body—Logan decided he didn't want to know, shaking his head as he ran by.

"What is it?" Jean was asking, leaning over the empty pilot's chair as she stared at the radar screen. The other seat was occupied by an African-American woman with white hair who was staring fixedly at the screen as she piloted the aircraft.

"They've fired two missiles at us," the other woman, who must have been Storm, replied tightly. "I'm trying to evade, but I could use some help here." To emphasize her words, she twisted the steering wheel, sending Jean, Logan, and Marie off-balance but dodging one of the missiles. She looked up. "Jean?"

The other woman wasn't listening to her words, however, an intense expression on her face as she concentrated on something Logan was sure he couldn't comprehend. They watched in amazement on the radar as one of the missiles suddenly disappeared, presumably destroyed by the power of her mind.

"I can't get the other one," she gasped out, sinking into one of the chairs as she pressed her hand against her forehead. Logan felt an urge to comfort her but restrained himself. He'd always been a sucker for a pretty woman.

"Marie?" Logan asked.

She frowned. "I'll try." She leaned against him, trusting him to keep her upright as she closed her eyes. He knew how difficult it was for her to intentionally access the parts of her mind she preferred to leave untouched. A bead of sweat formed on her forehead and her features became pinched. They watched on the radar screen as the remaining missile wavered in its course. "I…can't…" she ground out, and then she seemed to lose control over the missile and it surged forward at the last second, she cried out, "No!" and with what appeared to be an almighty push of her mind she forced the missile of course, and it nudged the wing of the jet, rocking everyone where they stood or sat, and then exploded harmlessly a few hundred yards away. She collapsed into Logan's arms, breathing heavily.

Logan looked down at her in concern until she sent him a tired smile to reassure him. He looked up into Jean's eyes and saw that she was staring at the younger mutant in shock. "What?" he asked.

"Telepathy was not one of Marie's powers," Jean replied slowly.

Pushing herself off of Logan, Marie opened her mouth to explain when the jet gave an almighty lurch, sending her flying off her feet. She crawled to one of the walls, holding on tightly. The mutants stared wildly at each other as the jet began to descend steadily.

"What's going on?" Logan shouted, gripping the wall so tightly that it dented slightly.

"I don't know!" Storm replied, tugging at the steering wheel uselessly. "It's not following my commands."

"Hang on!" Jean shouted at the children in the back of the plane. "This could be a bumpy landing!"

Strangely, though, rather than gaining speed as it plummeted the jet had begun to slow. At last, it came to a complete stop with its nose some three meters above the ground.

Less important than their sudden and surprising survival was who was controlling the plane. Logan had never seen the man before, but he recognized him from Marie's descriptions. He felt a growl form in his throat as he stared at the man's silly silver cape and silver hair and grey eyes.

Only his unusually keen hearing allowed him to hear Marie's whisper, full of dread and hatred and hope and fear and love. "Erik."


End file.
